Quest for the Sands of Time
by Seedyom
Summary: Imagine being able to reverse the biggest mistake you’ve ever made. Norrington, Sparrow, a Frenchman, his estranged wife, and an exslave seek a treasure that can change their past. SparrowOC NorringtonOC
1. Storm Clouds Brewing

**Title: Pirates of the Caribbean: Quest for the Sands of Time**

Summary: A Frenchwoman tracks her treasure-hunting husband with the help of Commodore Norrington. An ex-slave forms a reluctant alliance with Jack Sparrow and seeks the same treasure to prevent her sister's death.

Disclaimer: Don't own POTC or any other Disney franchise.

Author Notes: This is a rough draft. Constructive criticism and props needed. PRETTY PLEASE.

* * *

**Chapter One: Storm Clouds Brewing**

* * *

**La Rochelle, France**

Olette sat at her kitchen table, shocked into silence. A letter of the most surprising nature had just come by post. The elderly man who had delivered it bowed out of the room, giving her his sincerest apologies (she was clearly distraught by the news he had brought).

Olette hardly noticed any of this. She was far too consumed by the paper in her hands. Her husband, Louis Pinon, claimed to have abandoned her to hunt treasure.

Olette was unsure whether she should take such a letter seriously. Though her husband often enjoyed having a laugh or two at her expense, he would never have set up such a cruel joke and not have remained near, to rush to her side in comfort and cheer.

Olette looked about the room, and there was no Louis, no sign to suggest that the letter was untrue. If anything, it confirmed it. She now noticed that certain objects of his were missing, probably packed away for the trip he claimed to have taken.

Olette knew she shouldn't be surprised. She of all people knew how rash Louis could be. The countless gambling debts and his impulsive buying habits had said it all. And yet, even with such precedents, she was still surprised. She had believed him and the sweet promises he had whispered in her ear.

He had seemed so sincere when he said he loved her and wanted nothing more than to live out life with her in La Rochelle. There had never even been a whisper of his discontent, a desire to return to a life of seas and ships, nor a regret at leaving the spice trade.

If there had ever been such a longing, he had not shared it with her. But why hadn't he told her. He was not one to hide his feelings or his thoughts. Perhaps he had wished to spare her the pain? Or perhaps he had not known his own feelings until recently—and his only crime was that of self-deceit?

Olette shook her head at the idea. She would not let him off so easily. It was one thing to fulfill a deep longing and return to a life of adventure, but it was quite another to do it so unexpectedly. Olette did not expect her husband to consult her on such matters (Louis would always do what he wanted), but she did expect to be told in person, not by some afterthought letter. She would even go so far as to say that she deserved some proper warning. But no, this was all that she received after two years of marriage:

My Dearest Olette,

You must forgive me. I am a fool and a scoundrel to leave my love so abruptly, but the seas called me home, and the winds were such that I could not delay.

I do not want you to think that I do not love you. For I do not think any other woman could have kept me at bay for so long. My nature is such that leaving was inevitable.

A map, you may remember, had fallen into my possession, and believing it to be of genuine origin, I resolved to find its great treasure. With the help of your translations, I hope to find the Las Arenas del Tiempo and return a very rich man. I do not know how long my journey shall take, nor if I shall ever return (it is likely to be as dangerous as it is long). I have no wish for you to waste any time or tears, while I pursue adventure, glory, and other such follies, and I pray that you do not think too ill of me, my beautiful wife.

Louis

Olette was infuriated by his attempts to placate and flatter her.

Olette held back tears as the sting of rage and sadness swelled beneath her chest. For a moment, she had trouble breathing, but she regained her calm composure, folded the letter and placed it carefully within her apron pocket. Olette decided that she would see Louis again. She would not allow things to end like this.

She grabbed a piece of paper, an inkwell, and a quill and began sketching out the map she had seen in the few days prior. Louis had, as stated in the letter, acquired a mysterious treasure map.

In the moments before sleeping, as husband and wife lay in bed, Louis had stared at the map, transfixed by its contents, seduced by the promise of treasure. He would not, could not be stirred from it. Eventually, his fixed concentration drew Olette's curiosity, and she began to stare at the pictorials as well.

She now mapped out all that she could remember and scribbled down the Spanish phrases he had asked her to translate from the map. She folded the replica map and tucked it beside the letter from Louis, then packed a bag of clothes, and pulled out the money she had hidden in the pantry (Louis could not spend what he did not know about) before setting off for Tortuga. There, she hoped to secure a ship to New Spain, or more specifically Vera Cruz, which was the closest port to the treasure's hiding place.

* * *

**Caribbean Waters**

Captain Jack Sparrow tapped and shook his compass once more, then thrust open the lid hoping it might work this time.

"Captain?" Gibbs asked while waiting for Jack to tell him the direction of travel, but the look on the captain's face suggested he had no idea.

"We should definitely do sort of East-Westish," Sparrow drawled after a moment. "Or maybe South-Northerly."

Upon seeing Gibbs' frustrated expression Jack violently shook the magical compass once more.

"If I could go back in time I'd keep myself from bartering for this bloody compass," Jack muttered, forcefully slamming it down on a nearby banister.

At Jack's words the compass pointed almost due west with the needle staying completely still. Jack kissed the compass for showing a clear answer for the first time since he began looking for Davy Jones' chest.

"That, sir, is the way that we shall go," the Captain's voice had a haughty certainty that was missing seconds before. "The way towards Davy's chest."

"And the treasure, Jack?" Gibbs was suspicious. Jack seemed to forget that the crew needed to be paid or else he'll have to deal with a second mutiny.

"Oh yes, of course, the treasure. Mountains of gold are hidden beneath the chest and buxom natives will welcome us with arms and legs wide open." Sparrow knew he could not deliver such riches but he had little choice. He had to have that chest.

"Truly?" Gibbs smiled, gleefully imagining such a sight.

"Yes, yes, truly." Jack replied before removing himself and headed to the bow, where he wouldn't have to lie so much.

An hour latter Gibbs found Jack again.

"There seems to be a problem, Captain. The Pearl can't seem to catch any winds that bring her away from Hispaniola. What would you have us do?"

Jack knew how important it was to get Davy's chest before it was too late, yet he couldn't help but wish for another meeting with Marie Rose, Tia Dalma's feisty friend. And since Tia seemed too busy entertaining her own mysterious guest, Jack figured it didn't matter if he paid a visit to the Rose.

"I have just recollected that those Voodoo girls might know of a way to get the weather to be more favorable. I'd better go implore them for their help."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, unable to understand why Sparrow preferred those creepy heathens to decent English women. "You'd better go then. A mighty storm is coming in what will make the trek up the river a dangerous one. I'll see to the crew."

The storm did come in, and when it did it pushed the river so fast that Jack had to drag his boat up shore and walk towards the glimmering torches on foot.

* * *

**Tortuga**

Norrington slammed his empty mug down on the worn counter, getting the bartender's attention. The bartender responded with a flick of his wrist and the pouring of a bottle. He knew the drill, the ex-commodore patronized his bar often enough. As long as he kept the liquor flowing, Norrington was a peaceable drunk. He kept to himself, brooding at the end of the bar, muttering quiet slurs at unseen pirates, lamenting his once proper life and his almost wife.

James Norrington was a dirty drunken shell of his former self, but that's what results when proud men are publicly disgraced and privately demoted. He swished about the contents of his cup and remembered that he had once believed alcohol to be a great evil that dulled the senses and created wantonness in his subordinates. Now it was his lifeline. He could not pass the days living in disgrace without the apathy it created in him.

A woman entered the bar and drew his apathetic gaze from the cup to the doorway. She was a pretty sort of girl, but there was nothing remarkable about her features. Her white dress appeared to be of Parisian style, but half of the women in Tortuga were French so such details stood out little in Norrington's mind as he observed her from afar.

It was her reserved and awkward manner that set her apart from the many whores and drew his attention. Her discomfort and unfamiliarity with the tavern environment was palpable. The lady in white fearfully, cautiously, sidestepped the brawling drunks and dancing wenches and eventually made it to the bar several seats down from him.

"You meeting someone here, miss?" the bartender asked her gruffly.

The woman shook her head quickly and laid out her troubles before him with perfect French-accented English, "I just got here today. I'm rather tired and bit thirsty, and this was the only tavern with available rooms."

"Are you some kind of fancy whore or something?" the bartender asked superciliously.

The lady was shocked and confused. "No, not at all. I'm actually just stopping in on my way to New Spain. This was as far as Le Guardien would take me—I can't believe how anxious they were to get me off of their ship."

Norrington sighed aloud. This girl obviously didn't have the same sharp wit Elizabeth possessed. He decided it would only be matter of time before Tortuga would destroy this fragile, foolish creature.

"You don't say?" The barkeep laughed heartily as he cleaned a glass for her. "Well, I can't say that I'm surprised. Anything to do with women is bad luck, and seamen are all manner of superstitious." He dropped the cleaned, or slightly cleaner, glass in front of the lady in white and began pouring wine into it. "Vino, right?" She nodded and smiled. "Yep, never did meet a frog that didn't like the vino."

"And I very much doubt you ever will," she laughed sweetly and took a long sip from her glass.

"Will that be it? Or are you hungry? Should I have the missus fix something together for you?" The barkeep's kindness surprised Norrington. He had never seen anything other gruffness, but he supposed that young lady's naiveté and vulnerability could command empathy from even the most unfeeling of men.

"No. Thank you, though," she shook her head gently, and he began leaving her to fill up another patrons empty mug. "But Monsieur, please, I was hoping you might be able to answer some questions, or at least point me in the right direction."

"Ask away." He seemed eager to help.

"I'm looking for my husband, Louis Pinon. He might have recently come to Tortuga by way of the La Rosa Negra."

"I wouldn't know where to begin with such a search. Most innkeepers don't bother with names. Pirates are likely to lie anyways."

"That's alright. I hardly expected..." Her disappointed voice trailed off as Norrington left to take a piss outside.

When he returned the young Frenchwoman was surrounded by a large group of pirates talking excitedly over a map of New Spain. Norrington returned to his stool and could not help but hear their conversation.

From what he could deduce, the map supposedly lead to the Las Arenas del Tiempo, an ancient relic which had the power to turn back time. The lady seemed to be trying to insight interest in the pirates and merchants, hoping that one of them might take her there. One man, in particular, was trying to get a closer look. He claimed that he did not believe it was genuine, and he was trying to grab it from her. The French lady was about the release it, when Norrington interrupted the happy party.

"You can't seriously be that stupid."

They all turned to look at him. The Frenchwoman seemed both confused and offended.

"The man's a pirate. If he even half-believes you, he is going to try and steal it for himself," Norrington clarified.

"Shut up. The lady wasn't askin' for your opinion," Mr. Grabby-hands growled.

"Well, she may or may not want to hear what I have to say, but I highly doubt she wants to be taken in by a half-wit like you." Norrington stepped off his stool and advanced on the man as he spoke.

"That's enough from you," Grabby-hands angrily swung his fists, and there was an ensuing scuffle that left the man unconscious on the floor and Norrington swaying with a bleeding lip. The pirates and merchants surrounding the lady had dispersed during the course of the fight, figuring that the map was probably fake and not worth the trouble.

"Was that really necessary?" the lady said as she crouched down beside the unconscious pirate.

"Well, I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't thought so." Norrington gingerly touched his cut lip and winced, "I was trying to be a gentleman. You should thank me, you know."

"Thank you? You just scared away all my possible means of travel." Olette was confounded by the rude drunkard, who sat on the stool next to her and ordered himself another drink.

"You wouldn't have wanted to travel with any of them anyway. No respectable captain is going to trust a map that appears to be scribbled by a child, and if any of them had believed your map to be a genuine replica of a genuine treasure map, then you would be in great danger."

Norrington saw that the imbecile didn't understand and tried to explain further, "They have no reason to keep you around once they have the map. And if they did allow you on board, it would, I imagine, only be for some perverse pleasure. They are a greedy and unscrupulous lot, the pirates and the merchant traders."

Olette's husband was a merchant trader, and she wanted to raise that point in offense against the drunkard's statement, but she feared Louis (and his abandoning her) would only prove an example. Instead, she asked, "You think I'm going about this all wrong? Then what do you suggest I do?"

"I'd say cut your losses and go home, but you've made it this far and you're probably too foolish to listen to such sense. I don't understand why you bothered coming after him at all. Do you really expect to find him?" Norrington was already making his way to the end of his mug, and ordered another drink, before continuing. "And if you do find him, what do you plan to do? If he's in danger, how do you expect to avoid the same fate and help him? You are a very silly girl indeed if you expect to be of any use to him."

"I couldn't just wait at home wondering if he's alive...wondering if I'm allowed to move on." Olette began sipping sadly out of the mug he had passed over to her.

"I don't see why it should matter whether he's still alive, the man's a scoundrel and he left you. You're a young girl. I'm sure you'll find yourself in love again, and hopefully you'll choose your husband more wisely the second time around."

"But... I think you forget, Monsieur, that I am French, and we are not as prone to vow-breaking as the English." Olette snipped back. She found Anglican marriage customs extremely distasteful, and she resented him for thinking it was that easy.

"You're in an English pub, madam, and I think you would do well to remember that," Norrington's English pride was stirred by her comments, as well as some concern. "Such comments might be dangerous in a place where men were easily offended and prone to violent outbursts."

"Well, I doubt any of the present company, pirates and thieves as you refer to them, would be offended by an accusation of lying and or vow-breaking."

"Touché," he laughed. Perhaps she was not so terribly stupid after all. Just inexperienced with the dark side of the world.

There was a lull in the conversation, an awkward pause, as he wondered what her name was and she wondered what terrible tragedy had turned him into an unpleasant drunk. When the silence, did break it was with both of them speaking at once. Olette apologized and begged him to continue.

"I realized just now, that I hadn't properly given you a suggestion," she listened now with rapt attention as he spoke, for though he was incredibly rude he seemed to know what he was talking about. "I think it would be best if you did not mention the treasure or the map at all, rather it would be better if you bought passage to Vera Cruz—that's assuming you have the money—and found people there to help you. The last place you want to be is on a ship with a greedy crew lusting after your map." Norrington turned back to his drink, and she concluded that he was finished.

"That sounds reasonable," Olette paused not knowing how to proceed. She looked around not knowing who to talk to without creating another scene. "You seem to know the people here, perhaps you could help secure me passage on one of the ships."

"Perhaps I could," Norrington said and looked around the tavern for the ever-informative Mr. Leonard Crawley, who kept the books for Tortuga's port. Norrington found him by the fire and left Olette at the bar to talk with him.

Olette observed Norrington whispering with the creepy looking fellow, and some money changing hands. Then, Norrington returned as quickly as he had left.

"Mr. Blackwell, I believe, is our man. He plans to leave Tortuga for Vera Cruz in two days time," he said as he pointed out a severe looking man, who reminded Olette of her librarian father.

Before she could respond, he grabbed her hand and pulled her off the stool and towards the Captain. "I'll do all the talking...Excuse me, sir. This young lady would like to secure passage on your ship."

Blackwell eyed Olette with disdain. "I'm sorry, madam. I don't believe in taking lady-folk 'board my ship. Not worth the trouble. And it has nothing to do with superstitions. They just cause..." he paused as if remembering a bad experience, "...unwanted tensions among the crew."

"Would it matter that she is married?" Norrington asked, undeterred by the man's reply. He had expected such resistance.

"Not unless her husband was to accompany her. I don't expect that any of the crew would be deterred by an idea so intangible as 'marriage' or 'husband.' To them, it's out of sight, out of mind. It takes a strong figure and a sharp sword to keep seamen away from a beautiful woman," Blackwell stated looking pointedly at Olette, who was lost in sad, self-pitying thoughts. All this talk of marriage and husbands, helped to remind Olette of Louis' absence.

Norrington thought for a brief moment before saying, "And if I were to accompany her?" Olette snapped out of her meditations and looked up at the scraggily drunk in shock.

"Are you her husband?" The captain eyed Norrington carefully.

"Would it matter? A strong figure is as good as any, and my sword is not completely dulled. So long as I am willing to be accountable for her and she makes the payment worth your while, I don't see why it should matter to you." After Norrington spoke, he took Olette's money purse from her side without asking and showed its contents to the captain. "This is just her share. I should rather work my payment off."

"You an experienced seamen?" The captain noted the former commodore's nearly unrecognizable naval attire, which was caked in mud.

"I've served all my life in His Majesty's Royal Navy, working my way up to the rank of Commodore, which I served for the last two years." Norrington said with pride and authority. Olette was surprised by the drunk's disclosure, and more than ever, Olette was curious about his fall from grace.

The Captain seemed pleased with what he saw and heard, and he gave a curt nod of affirmation. "You've convinced me. Welcome aboard, Mr.—"

"James Norrington," he supplied his name. It was the first time Olette had heard it.

"And Mrs.—"

"Olette Pinon, Monsieur." Olette said sheepishly. It was the first time Norrington had heard her name.

Captain Blackwell told them where his ship, The Highwind, was berthed, what time they were weighing anchor, and how much he expected to see before they stepped foot on his boat. Then, he bid them good night and rejoined his party.

"So you're to come with me then?" Olette asked Norrington, surprised and thankful, as they walked back to their respective stools.

"Well, you are clearly too ignorant to left to your own devices," Norrington explained, "and it's not like I am preoccupied with any task at the moment." Aside from wasting away on this bar stool, he thought.

Norrington was surprised by his own offer to accompany a married lady whom he hardly knew. He didn't really know what had overcome him. He wondered if his actions were motivated by the possibility that the treasure was real and that his regrettable past was changeable. Or maybe he had fallen under the same spell as the barkeep.

Olette thanked him graciously for making the journey possible, and Norrington told her that he would come in two days to take her to the ship. They bid each other goodnight and parted ways, Olette leaving to her warm room upstairs and Norrington to the alleyway he called home.

* * *

**Hispaniola (now known as Haiti)**

Marie Rose Natine woke from her dreaming, her sheets sticking to her dark skin. She sat up, glancing around her hut in an effort to find her bearings. She caught her reflection in her cracked looking glass and gasped, momentarily startled at seeing something moving. She looked something of a mess with her curly hair sticking in all directions and large beads of sweat collecting at her brow.

The same nightmare plagued her almost every night. Every night she was once again bound in chains and made to work in the fields among the sugar canes and every morning she woke and was free again. The pain of slavery was great yet second to her chief source of grief: that her sister died to ensure her freedom.

She remembered too clearly how their pursuers were close at their heels. Marie Rose and Annabelle were bone tired and half-starved from the constant fleeing, but Marie Rose was not about to give up. Annabelle, however, was younger and had been given a severe beating just a few nights before. She abruptly stopped running, and flung herself at their pursuers.

"Run Marie! I will not have died for not'ing if you escape!"

Tears stung Marie Rose's eyes as she took off again, unable to block out the horrific sounds of her sister's screams.

Even after six years Marie Rose had been unable to forgive herself for letting her sister die in her stead. She had nothing to remember her by, just the bittersweet memory of her smile. Marie Rose would do anything to see that smile one more time.

A knock at the door brought her out of her thoughts. With a bit of annoyance Marie Rose slipped out of bed and flung open the wooden door, revealing a familiar figure standing in the rainstorm outside. Her large gray tabby cat, Dom Petro, looked up lazily from his perch on top of one of the voodoo priestess' cluttered shelves.

"Wrong hut Sparrow. Tia is tree doors dow'," Marie Rose grumbled.

She never liked the looks of this freeloading captain who pilfered Tia's amulets right from under her nose. Therefore she didn't feel bad about putting a curse on him a few days ago. She felt extra satisfaction as she slammed her door in his face.

"No, no, you've got it all wrong, love," Sparrow's pleaded on the other side of the door. "It seems I will be on your little island for the duration so I believe it to be in your best interest for me to bring your attention to an important matter what I left my crew on the Pearl to tell you of."

Marie Rose opened the door a crack. "I'm listening."

Jack grasped the door and forced it open far enough to squeeze his way inside. "Lovely. Put a kettle on stove, would you dear?"

Marie Rose stared at the captain in disbelief. He was soaked from head to toe and did not seem to notice the pool of mud forming at his feet. If she didn't know him better it would be shocking that he intended to win her favor with charm alone.

"What makes you tink you can come in here an' tell me what I do?" Marie Rose huffed, throwing raggedy knitted shawl over her shoulders. Her little night-slip was hardly appropriate for Jack's eyes.

"Because I have a little gift for you," Jack grinned, producing Tia Dalma's black pearl necklace. "I traveled all the way to Singapore to barter this special for you."

"No you did not!" Marie Rose shouted, shaking the necklace in her fist. "You'sa liar an' t'ief. Dis Tia's prop'rty. I seen you take dis necklace an' dat is why you are curse wit' wind dat only point to dis islan'."

Jack indignantly snatched the necklace back, angry that his host not only spurned his gift but apparently was the reason he couldn't get away from the island. "Fine. I bravely risk the wrath of the most powerful voodoo witch—" he paused at Marie Rose's growing disdain, "—I mean the second most powerful voodoo witch on the island, and this is how you show your gratitude?"

Marie Rose stormed back to the door, flinging it open. "You can go now."

"Where does this hostility come from, love?" Sparrow reached up to scratch Dom Petro between the ears only to have the cat curl up its lips into a low growl. Jack removed his hand quickly, turning back to the irate woman. "I've shown you all the kindness in the world and you've only been cross."

Marie Rose planted one hand on her hip, the other gesturing wildly as she spoke. "Dat is because you steal from my friends. I did not ask for your favor an' do not have any want of it."

A flash of lightning lit up the entire room, startling Jack. "But a storm's come in and those raindrops are enough to take an eye out."

Marie Rose merely pointed at the open doorway.

"What can I do to mend this terrible rift between us, love?" Sparrow pleaded, hands together in imitation of prayer.

Marie Rose's righteous anger faded a little, seeing that the pirate was so eager to appease her. Still, she wasn't about to let him off so easily.

"You have to give de necklace back to Tia."

"Good, good. I'll go do that straightway," Jack said, springing toward the door.

"Dere is one more ting." Sparrow stopped in his tracks, listening. "I take off curse, but you must swear to take me to La Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz."

"Is that all?" Jack asked, pivoting on his feet.

"Yes."

Sparrow thought for a moment, playing with the tips of his mustache. He supposed that Vera Cruz probably wasn't too out of his way given the chest's westerly bearing. He smiled, shut her door, and approached her, saying, "Then I have a little favor to ask of you."

Marie Rose hesitated, nervous. "…Go on."

"We shall take you to your destination, but until this storm fades, I stay here." Sparrow smiled wide enough so that Marie Rose could see his gold teeth.


	2. Setting Sail

**Pirates of the Caribbean: Quest for the Sands of Time**

Summary: A Frenchwoman tracks her treasure-hunting husband with the help of Commodore Norrington. An ex-slave forms a reluctant alliance with Jack Sparrow and seeks the same treasure to prevent her sister's death.

Disclaimer: Don't own POTC or any other Disney franchise.

Author Notes: This takes place between the first two movies, but has spoilers for both. I will lavish all of my love to anyone who reviews.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Setting Sail**

Jack woke to the warm sensation of the sun on his face as it beamed in through the window. To his dismay, the sun was shining and the storm was already drying up the muddy puddles around Marie Rose's little settlement. The voodoo priestess was already awake and hastily packing odd implements for the trip. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he staggered out of the makeshift cot Marie Rose had pulled out from under her bed.

Her little hut was neater than Tia's, with surprisingly well made shelves lining the walls, supporting a myriad of strange objects, varying from human skulls to dried flowers and fruits. He watched her with interest as she threw what looked liked a jar of pickled alligator eggs into her rucksack.

"When I go on a voyage I make sure to bring my alligator eggs," Jack said sarcastically.

"It is foolish to go float on water wit'out a sacrifice for Clermeil," Marie Rose replied, digging out a Jolly Rogers flag and stuffing it into her pack.

"You do realize we have a multitude of those on the Black Pearl." Jack indicated the flag, which to Marie Rose represented a spirit of death.

She was getting annoyed at having Jack around, watching everything she did. She decided it was time to get him to leave.

"These are all important items that can save a man's life." She handed him a small jar of a foul looking concoction that he could smell through its tight lid. "Will wake a man drowned if you press it to his nose."

Jack quickly handed the jar back over and gently waved his now reeking hand a few times in an effort to dissipate the offending smell. "Which reminds me. My crew is awaiting its captain's orders. Row out to the Pearl before the tide drops and I'll personally assist you in getting on board."

"Be sure not to try to leave wit'out me, Jack Sparrow. I do not lift curse until I'm on the ship an' you will only waste time."

"Duly noted, love," he said, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Until then…" He took her hand in his, kissing it as Marie Rose rolled her eyes.

* * *

Captain Blackwell thought it was best to tell the crew that Olette was a married woman and that Norrington was her husband. He thought that this would establish claims not so easily disregarded (like an absentee husband or a protective lover).

He did not tell them of his plan until after she had paid him and they had boarded the Highwind. At first, she had thought it a wise and cautious maneuver, and Olette and Norrington had shared a good laugh (though hers was more of a giggle) as the Captain introduced them to the crew as Mr. and Mrs. Norrington. But then, they were led below deck, and a cabin boy showed them to their singular room. It was a cramped space with barely enough room for its single bed, and Norrington and Olette stood just outside the door looking in. Olette's emotion ricocheted around between shock and confusion.

"Clearly there must have been a mistake," Olette said as soon as the cabin boy left down the hall. "Blackwell knew we couldn't share a bed."

Norrington looked from the bed to Olette, assessing Olette's indignation and their options in terms of propriety. "Not to be rude, miss Pinon, but even if I offered to sleep on the floor there is obviously little room for that." There was no space on the floor except a little bit of standing room, and most of that was taken up by her trunk, which the strong-armed cabin boy had brought in.

Olette crossed her arms across her chest, "I suppose we could sleep in shifts, and its Mrs. Pinon," she reminded him.

"Actually it's Mrs. Norrington," he corrected her and looked around the hallway to see if any crewmembers had overheard. He pulled her into the small room with him and closed the door. "You might try and remember that." It was a bit claustrophobic and they were forced into awkward closeness. "How do you expect me to keep an eye on you if you are frolicking about whenever I am sleeping?"

"They are probably going to be warded off by your mere presence on this ship. I'm sure constant surveillance isn't necessary." Olette didn't understand the problem.

"Yes, because we all know what an expert you are with such matters." he remarked sarcastically. "You give these men far too much credit." He knew that her plan would never work. It would raise questions among the crew and leave her vulnerable half of the day.

"You expect me to go along with this? I'm a married woman!" Olette hated to make trouble, but she didn't want to betray Louis.

"That's precisely why this shouldn't be a problem. I would never ask you to be unfaithful to dear Louis and you would never initiate such a betrayal. What we will be doing in this bed is sleeping; nothing more," Norrington reached up to a shelf above the bed and pulled down several pillows. He placed them vertically down the bed, creating a pillow barrier that separated the two sides of the narrow bed. "There! Now I don't want to here any more from you on the matter," he said as he fell onto the half of the bed closer to the wall.

It was very early in the morning and Norrington wasn't needed for work until after noon. Norrington opened his eyes and looked at her, wondering whether she would go to sleep as he expected. "Well?"

Olette bit her lip and shrugged. She supposed she was being unreasonable and laid down tentatively on the other half. Louis would surely forgive her. It was his fault she was here anyway.

As she closed her eyes, she heard crewman shouting up on dock as they prepared to set sail.

* * *

Friar Jorge Dueñas Delgado sat alone in a study on the second story of his monastery in the hills surrounding Pico de Orizaba in New Spain. Meticulously, he penned into a book that lay open on his desk, peering at it through a large magnifying glass. Suddenly, he set down the pen and rubbed his eyes. He sighed, and stared out his window at the town of Orizaba sprawling in the valley below him.

Just then there was a knock at the door, and another friar entered the room. "Jorge," he said in a hushed but hurried tone. "I think you ought to come downstairs."

"What happened?" Delgado asked.

"We need someone who speaks French. There's a French man who has come to the monastery. He keeps saying 'time.' 'Time, time.' "

Delgado carefully rested a heavy straightedge over the book in order to keep it open before shuffling out of the room.

Once downstairs he could hear the French man echo through the building, alternately saying "time" in Spanish and small phrases in French. As soon as Delgado entered the room, the French man turned to him.

"Do you speak French?" he asked in French.

"Yes, I speak French." Delgado replied, dubious about the French man's intentions and already worried about his asking about time.

"Can you tell me," the French man said slowly, as if doubting his ability, "about the Sands of Time?"

Delgado smiled. "That's no way to make introductions," he said in perfectly fluent French. "Let us sit down for coffee and discuss the matter." He indicated the door behind him with a nod of his head before turning around and disappearing inside it.

The rest of the friars stood silently, so the French man strode into the adjoining room. With a crack, he fell to the floor just beyond the threshold. Delgado, holding a heavy book, leaned over to check the French's mans consciousness.

"I knew you were planning something," said the friar who had retrieved Delgado from his study. "We don't drink coffee here."

"Thank you for staying silent," Delgado said to the collected friars with an appreciative nod. "I need some help carrying this man downstairs."

"...Downstairs?" a friar asked.

"Downstairs."

* * *

Marie Rose finally reached the port side of the Black Pearl in her little boat. She already felt sweaty and salty but was excited to finally take the first step toward finding Las Arenas del Tiempo. With the boat secured unto the pulleys she climbed onto the ladder leading up on deck, Dom Petro watching her nervously.

"Welcome aboard the Black Pearl," Jack greeted as Marie Rose swung her legs over the railing of the ship, landing gracefully onto the deck.

A man Marie Rose recognized as Mr. Gibbs approached the Captain warily. "Captain, the crew, and by that I mean I included, was wondering where the lady's quarters would be, and by that I mean where would she sleep."

Sparrow almost looked shocked that the question had even come to his attention. "Isn't it obvious? The lady makes rest in my quarters." Jack gestured towards his doorway.

As the boat was raised, Marie Rose gently picked up the rattled Dom Petro and set him down on the deck. "I tink you're mistaken, Captain. Our agreement said not'ing about sharing your cabin."

"No, young lass, you are the one who is mistaken. I believe you'll remember that there is nothing in our agreement that says you won't be staying in my stateroom." Sparrow smiled, feeling quite clever. "Now may I help you with your luggage?"

"You need not make de effort. Much like you need not bot'er wit' making room in your cabin." Although the rucksack was quite large and bulging with her effects, Marie Rose could lift it with only a little difficulty.

"Am I to understand that you'd rather sleep with a bunch of unwashed, foul-mouthed pirates than with just one unwashed foul-mouthed pirate?"

"You are to understand that I shall have my own quarters."

Marie Rose started down below deck, Sparrow following close behind.

"I'm not such terrible company as you make me out to be. I beg you reconsider." Sparrow grinned bearing gold teeth, adjusting his belt. " 'Sides, where you going to sleep?"

Past the cots and hammocks belonging to the crew, and towards the bow of the ship stood a door leading to the galley. Inside was the ship's stove and cooking implements. There also was a large pantry with several shelves containing some jarred foodstuffs.

"Who prepares the crews' meals?" Marie Rose asked, looking around the room.

"The men take turns. Dining on the Pearl is very unextravagant."

"Den you shall have a proper cook. I'm to make dis my quarters, and you and your crew will have de finest meals one can have at sea."

"And your dark magics? What of those?" Jack wondered if he might persuade Marie Rose to use her voodoo powers to ensure good winds.

Marie Rose leaned in so close to Jack that she could feel his breath on her face. "Make it worth my while."

A slight tremor of pleasure ran through him and he opened and closed his mouth not knowing what to say. Jack was trying to think of something nasty or witty to throw back in her face, but nothing came.

"Jack?" Gibbs called from up above. The crew was ready to set sail. They just needed the captain's orders.

Sparrow waited a moment, face to face with Marie Rose, before responding. "I'll be out in a moment."

"Excuse me miss, I have a ship to captain," he told her before leaving the room.

* * *

Norrington thrust Olette into their small room below deck.

"What on earth were you thinking?" He demanded from her, outraged. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"I was just dancing." Olette wanted to back away, but she was already up against the back wall.

"Just dancing?" The former Commodore scoffed. She was so naive. "You might as well have been begging them all the challenge me for your womanly affections. How many times do I have to tell you before it sinks into to that thick head of yours? Don't go up there."

Norrington didn't understand her. They had had this conversation a week ago. She had though it harmless fun to play cards with the seamen, by herself, and he had tried to explain to her that the more time she spent around the men, the more they would desire her, the more they were both in danger. It would be much better for all parties if she just stayed in her room.

"I'm sorry. I've finished all my books, and it just gets so terribly boring down here, and I heard the music…" Olette apologized, hoping he might understand her outright disobedience.

It was hard when Norrington was busy working. She lost the one person she was allowed to talk to. Norrington may be a bit abrasive, but at least he was interesting. He kept her entertained with stories of great sea battles and fearsome pirates, and slowly but surely he was beginning to reveal his mysterious past.

"Do you have to go back right now?" Olette sat on their shared bed, hopeful that she might get another story out of him.

Norrington rubbed his scruffy jaw, sighing. He was calming down, even though he still wanted to be angry with her. "No, I was just finishing up, when I heard your silly girlish laughter."

Olette scooted over and made room for him to lay down. He looked rather tired, either from work or dealing with her, as he fell back onto their pillow.

"It's alright if you just wanted to sleep." Olette snuffed out the candle and laid back as well. Then for what seemed like several minutes, she waited for a reply.

"Now, where were we?" Norrington asked, his baritone voice drifting up out of the darkness.

"You were about to get promoted."

"Ah yes. It was the eve of my promotion to Commodore and my anticipation was steadily growing. I've known Elizabeth Swann since accompanying her on the crossing from England as a girl and had the pleasure of watching her grow into a breathtaking young woman. For several months I had been looking forward to the day of my promotion ceremony as the day I would propose to Miss Swann."

Olette was sitting up straight, listening closely. "What did she look like?" She imagined her to be like some fairy tale princess as well as long-necked and graceful like a swan.

"Elizabeth is tall and shapely, with this long, thick hair that curls perfectly even after hours of being in the elements. She has these large eyes that watch you with an intensity I've never experienced before. She wasn't like the other girls at Port Royal—she was a woman not to be bound. For a long time I dreamed of making her my wife."

"So did you propose to her?" It seemed silly to Olette that a smart man like James would seek to bind such a restless spirit in marriage.

"I did, and she declared herself to be breathless, which I thought was an affirmation of her feelings. Sadly, I was very wrong."

"It was her corset, wasn't it?" Olette laughed, "I've seen the way English girls dress and those frightening London fashions." Norrington hated it whenever she disparaged English customs, and his displeased face was visible in the dark. Olette decided to make nice and change the subject. "I'm guessing she fainted?"

"Yes." Norrington paused, and Olette was afraid that he was still upset, but he suddenly started laughing, "Right off the cliff. Down into the ocean. Just barely missing the rocks. Only to be rescued by a pirate."

Olette found this development into the story exciting, but she didn't really understand why he was laughing. All of that must have been very distressing for him. Perhaps things had changed and there was some sort of irony in the situation. Or enough time had passed and he realized what a bizarre situation it had been.

Norrington's laughter was now so great that he was nearly in tears. It was infectious and Olette couldn't help but laughing herself.

_

* * *

_

_Five Years Ago…_

Annabelle and Marie Rose were in the storehouse, filling bottles with rum from the casks in which the liquor was aged. Annabelle was considerably younger than Marie Rose—she seemed to watch her older sister as she worked in an effort to do exactly as she.

"Who do you t'ink drinks dis stuff?" Annabelle wondered aloud as she held the glass bottle in her hands while her sister poured.

"A handsome prince," Marie Rose whispered, eyes wide. Annabelle listened eagerly. "He only drinks de finest rum—but he sacrifice as much what he drinks to any L'wha dat he wish to make merry with. All de spirits attend his parties because he lets dem drink as much rum as dey wish."

Annabelle made a face, amused by her sister's tale. "If dat were true he'd still have to drink a lot of dis awful stuff. Why do people like to drink it when it tastes so bad?"

"It makes the white men happy. Maybe when we're both women we'll find out for ourselves."

"Speak for yourself, Marie Rose. You are already a woman. The boys your age watch you with faraway looks on their faces."

"If by boys you mean Michel den you play a cruel joke on your sister. Michel is de only boy whose head is so empty he finds me attractive."

Annabelle giggled. "You say dat now, but in five years you will have tree of his chil'ren."

"Now look at de mouth on you," Marie Rose scolded. "You better hope I don't sew it shut while you sleep!"

Annabelle laughed again. She always so bold, always making Marie Rose laugh for strange reasons. There was something so free about the way she moved as if she never wore the irons for misbehaving, or spoke her mind as if she never got lashes for having a loose tongue. Annabelle was completely and utterly incapable of being anything else but Annabelle.

* * *

After a week of hearing Norrington's stories, Olette had come to the decision that Elizabeth Swann was a manipulative trollop who didn't deserve him. Norrington's head rested comfortably in her lap, and she absently combed through his stringy hair as she listened to him speak. His words grew more and more weak and unsure.

"She told me that she would marry me if I saved the blacksmith. The man was a fool but I would have done anything to show her that I loved her. I risked the lives of many of my men as well as my own to save Mr. Turner. Within the week the same man set free the pirate that had kidnapped her before—"

"You mean Jack Sparrow?" Barbossa was dead, so Olette assumed he met the other one.

"Yes, him. When my men had Turner and Sparrow before me, Elizabeth stood between us and made it clear to me that she could only love one man and that that man was Will Turner."

Olette was filled with righteous anger for the woman that broke her promise and betrayed the poor Commodore. "So what did you do? Send them all to the gallows?"

"I let her go. I let them all go. It was the biggest mistake of my entire life. I lost my love, my commission, and my reputation."

Olette felt great sympathy for Norrington. She grabbed a brush that was sitting atop her trunk and began pulling it through the tangled mess that she was having trouble with.

"Is that when you went through the hurricane trying to catch Sparrow?"

He didn't answer. Olette wasn't surprised. The hurricane seemed to be a very emotional topic and he had only mentioned it briefly.

"What are you doing?" He asked incredulous.

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm brushing your hair." Olette was gently brushing at the Commodores hair, like she was playing with a doll.

"Yes, but why?" He laughed half-heartedly. Part of his mind was still dwelling on Elizabeth and other past disasters. The other part was highly entertained by Olette's actions.

"It's a tangled mess. That's why." Olette proved her point by yanking it through a knot, and he grimaced up at her in return.

"Well if it is a mess, than it's your fault. You're the one who said not to cut it." Norrington didn't understand woman sometimes.

"I know. It's cause I think you look rather dashing with your scruffiness. But this is a little too messy." Olette teased, "I think it's starting to verge on unsanitary. Disgusting really"

"Very funny." He said, his voice dry with sarcasm.

Olette was gathering another section of his hair, and she accidentally brushed his neck with the tips of her fingers. The contact caused Norrington to tense for a moment, and he suddenly realized just how close they were. He wondered at how inappropriate their situation and behavior was, but he didn't make any movement to leave.

Olette began laughing suddenly, and Norrington wondered if she too had sensed the awkwardness.

"What?"

"I was just remembering the first time I saw you. You were so very scruffy then." Olette stopped brushing, and Norrington was forced to sit up as she got up and put the brush away.

Olette sat back down, beside him, and continued. "I thought you were such a rude drunk. I didn't like you at all."

They were both leaning back up against the wall, their shoulders touching.

"Well I did knock down the man you were speaking to. So I can't really blame you." Norrington said, fighting the urge to wrap his arm around her.

* * *

The Pearl made one quick stop at Tortuga for supplies since Jamaica, the last island before entering Spanish territory, was no longer a safe berth for pirates.

While the crewmembers granted shore leave mostly caroused at the bars and taverns, Marie Rose found herself taking her new job as cook seriously, buying enough vegetables to last the fist few weeks of the journey, some fresh fruit and some more to dry, several boxes of jarred goods that would last at least a few months, and a few barrels of salted meats. She hired a boy to help her bring her purchases back to the Pearl. The white kid seemed a little bewildered at being hired by a black woman but was eager to make a shilling or two.

As she waited for the crew to return, Marie Rose started a beef stew that could feed the crew for several days. She cut up some of the fresh celery, onion, potatoes, carrots, and cabbage and let it simmer in the stew with the beef until the crew started to pour in, freshly drunk but still able to work with relative efficiency.

As Marie Rose was setting the Captain's table, Jack watched with interest. "You're a table setting short."

Marie Rose looked from the table to Sparrow, confused. "Is dere a ghost in de room, Captain?"

"Why on earth would you have me dine all on my lonesome when I could enjoy pleasant company such as yourself?"

Marie Rose sighed, growing more than weary of Jack's failure to take a hint and leave her be. However she was tired of coming up with excuses to avoid him, and one dinner couldn't be too terrible, what with a whole table between them.

By the time the Pearl was at sea the stew was ready, and the off duty crew enjoyed the steaming stew as if it was the best meal they had in days. They were also served slices of fresh orange to ward off scurvy. Dom Petro was given some lesser cuts of the meat, which the cat ate with relish.

Jack seemed to enjoy the stew as well, taking three helpings and eating with relish until he was full. Marie Rose personally was not used to the salty taste of dried beef but knew that in a month's time she'd dream of that stew as the perfect meal.

"I wonder how a woman of your breeding becomes such a good cook," Jack said, rotating his wrist absent-mindedly. "Is that what your voodoo upbringing taught you?"

"To be honest, I did not grow up in the swamp like my sister priestesses. I grew up on a sugar cane plantation. My mot'er was de cook for Mr. Marcoix, de master of de plantation, and his family. I helped my mum in the kitchen until a few years after my sister was born."

"Why only until then?"

"Dat was when Mrs. Marcoix discovered dat Mr. Marcoix was de father of my sisters and me. She had us moved out of de house to the rum stills. "

Jack's eyes lit up at the mention of rum. He seemed to want to know more about the process of making rum, but unsure of how to ask. "I would guess that your mistress made life hard for you and your sister after that."

"Mrs. Marcoix was a severely jealous woman who blamed my mother instead of her husband. Just being in her sight was enough to earn one of us a whipping. Finally she convinced her husband to sell my sister and me. That was when we decided to escape."

Marie Rose grew silent, growing melancholy over her memories and embarrassed that she told someone besides her close friends about life on the plantation. Maybe she wanted Sparrow to know that the freedom that came so effortlessly to him had to come at a cost to many others.

"And here you are," Sparrow said finally, lifting his glass. "To Marie Rose and her new beginnings."

Marie Rose was taken aback. There was something different in the way Jack was looking at her something she couldn't place.

And then it hit her, like a cold wave from the depths of the sea. What was never present in all of Sparrow's grins and grimaces directed at her was one important element.

Respect.


	3. Turbulent Waters

Avast Ye: Voodoo ceremonies and animal sacrifice featured in this chapter.

**

* * *

Chapter Three: Turbulent Waters**

Norrington stumbled into their shared cabin below deck, his arms and legs tired from a long day's work, his face reddened from the beating sun. He was about to sit on the bed and take off his boots, but Olette was taking up both sides.

He observed her as she slept peacefully. The book she had been reading, Paradise Lost, rested open on her chest. The spine was cracked and worn from repeated readings.

Norrington wondered if her husband, Louis, was as well-read. Did he appreciate her mind? Olette was the well-educated daughter of a librarian and could read and write French, English, Spanish, and a little German. Surely, a merchant trader would have no appreciation for such things.

A million questions thundered through his mind. Did Louis appreciate her sweet nature? Did he tell her stories of his travels? If not, why had she married him? What could he offer her? Why had he left her? The man must have been a first-class idiot.

Norrington bent low to pick her up and move her to the other side of the bed, so that he'd have room. Olette wakened from the movement and sleepily smiled at him, saying, "Hi." For a moment, he thought that she was the prettiest creature he had ever beheld.

Then suddenly and without warning, Norrington found himself kissing Olette's soft pink lips.

A gasp, a forceful separation, and a sharp slap soon followed. Olette looked back at him with strangely apologetic eyes that said, "I'm sorry. It's not you. If circumstances were different…"

Norrington looked away from her gaze, completely and utterly ashamed of himself. He should never have acted on such passions and put Olette into such an uncomfortable and compromising position. "I'm terribly sorry. I—It was not my wish. Please excuse me." He turned abruptly, leaving Olette alone.

She stared at the empty doorway that he had just vacated. She touched her lips, still feeling where he had kissed her, and she wondered whether she really wanted to find Louis alive and well.

The thought frightened and disgusted her. Louis was her husband, and Norrington was a man who had recently been a stranger. Where was her loyalty and wifely devotion?

But still, she couldn't help wondering. What if things were different?

* * *

The evening found Marie Rose restless. She had cleaned every pot and pan in the galley until every implement was as clean as they ever would be, and yet, something was still making her uneasy; the creaking sounds of the ship that she barely noticed on a normal day were making her jump. It sounded as if the structure of the ship would suddenly give out and let the ocean flood in.

At this time of night, most of the crew was asleep save for a navigator and two lookouts. Most everything was dark. The stars and a thin sliver of the waning moon provided the only light and reflected off of the inky surface of the ocean. It seemed that the Black Pearl was floating alone in a dark void, a solitary object in space.

Marie Rose climbed the steps leading to the bridge and was jolted out of her thoughts by the sight of Jack Sparrow manning the steering wheel, a bottle of rum sitting half-empty beside him. The Captain looked surprised to see her as well, but he grinned at the prospect of having company.

"What has you up so late, my dear Rose?" Sparrow asked, his eyes running up and down her person.

"De stars were calling me." She stared up at the billions of tiny lights, feeling a little lost.

Jack draped an arm around her and looked up at the sky as well. "And what exactly do you think they were telling you to do?" he whispered in her ear.

A shooting star caught Marie Rose's eye. Unlike Tia Dalma, she was not a seer of any mentionable ability, but she was sure that the stars were telling her something that night. Perhaps it was a warning.

"I need to make a sacrifice," she gasped, suddenly filled with terror.

She was always very devoted to the L'hwa, giving gifts to the spirits almost everyday. She realized now that she had gone days without giving Agwe, the spirit of the sea, any sort of sacrifice. The spirits wouldn't look kindly on such brash laziness.

Marie Rose hurried downstairs without offering an explanation. In a few moments she returned, carrying her rucksack over her shoulder. Jack watched with unmasked amusement as she hurriedly began unloading a multitude of objects from the bag. It seemed that there was no end to the amount of things she could stuff in it without running out of space.

When she was finished, a little boat filled with cheese, veal, a bottle of champagne, bread, and some smoked swordfish sat on the deck.

"If I'd known we would be having such a romantic late night dinner then I would have dressed for the occasion," Jack joked, grabbing the bottle of champagne.

Marie Rose snatched back the bottle. "Dat is part of my sacrifice. It is for the spirits alone."

"Doesn't sacrifice involve some sort of slaughter?"

"The L'hwa aren't always hungry for blood," Marie Rose explained. "Sometimes they want fruit, or some rum to drink. Give them what they want, and they will protect you." Marie Rose saw that Jack was genuinely interested in what she had to say about voodoo. "Do you want to help with the ceremony?"

His eyes flashed dangerously. "I'II try anything once, love."

Marie Rose felt glad to have a helper, but she hoped that the pirate didn't mess anything up. Mistakes could be fatal; she's seen people walk right into the water during ceremonies for Agwe. Those people drowned themselves because the sacrifice was not fitting for the spirit.

"It will please Agwe to have you take part since you are Captain. He is de spirit of the sea and has dominion over not only plants and animals, but also any ships that sail. I use dis conch shell to call to him, and when he comes we must have wet towels to protect him from the heat." She then gestured to the boat filled with food. "This barque is filled wit' many of his favorite foods and is floated into the water as an offering. If our offering is good enough for Agwe, the barque sinks. If it floats back to us den it isn't good enough."

"And what do we do if what we have offered isn't good enough?"

"Kill a white sheep and let its blood run into the ocean," she said grimly.

Jack didn't like this idea much. "We've only one sheep you know."

"It would be better to waste the sheep den anger de spirit of the sea. It would be like climbing into an alligator's mouth and expecting not to be eaten. Since just two of us are participating in the ceremony and my altar is left back at home, we must be careful to do everything the best we can.'

Marie Rose reached into her sack once more and pulled out a conch shell, a small cask of water, some towels, and two large drums. Watching her remove these things was mind-boggling.

Sparrow stared at the things around them. "So, how are we to proceed?"

Marie Rose pounded her drums with the heels of her hand, striking a primal beat that reminded Jack of the sound of waves crashing. He watched mesmerized by her swift movement and command of rhythm that came from a lifetime of drumming. Admittedly there were better drummers back in Hispaniola, but in order to become a priestess, you had to at least have a command of the drums that Marie Rose possessed. After a while she stopped, stepping away from the drums.

She pointed at Jack. "Now you try."

She pulled him in front of the drums and grabbed his wrists from behind. Slowly moving his hands to pound the beat, she whispered directions into his ear.

"T'ink about how much you love de ocean. Be t'ankful, for it gives you de freedom to do, to be whatever you want." Marie Rose moved his hands faster, "Become the breaking waves, let dem crash over you. Agwe gives you this freedom, he protects the Black Pearl from shipwrecks and storms."

She let go of his wrists while Jack continued drumming, keeping the rhythm surprisingly well. The Priestess pulled out her conch shell and blew it like a horn, calling Agwe to come to the surface. She took her knife and slit the tip of her finger and began drawing his Veve, an intricate symbol representing the L'hwa she is calling.

When the Veve was completed, she soaked some towels in the cask of water and laid them out before the side of the ship, while speaking in faraway voice. "Shell of de Sea, I call t' you. We bring food to fill you, and drink to make you merry."

The ocean suddenly grew rough, and the ship began to sway violently. Jack stopped his drumming, afraid that they had done something wrong, but Marie Rose shouted for him to continue. She picked up the barque and carefully dropped it into the water, calling out words that Jack couldn't understand. She continued to call out in prayer until a wave crashed over the barque, sinking it.

Jack stopped drumming, staring at the place the barque once floated.

"Now that was mystifying," Jack drawled. "I think my arms will be sore for a week." He stretched and shook his arms, willing them to feel normal.

Marie Rose smiled at him. "You did good, Jack. I don't understand how you were able to pick it up so quickly. You really could serve the L'hwa well if you wanted to."

"It is not the spirits I serve, but a certain Priestess whose eyes glow with magic." He stepped closer to Marie Rose and brought an arm around her waist. "We make quite the team."

For once, Marie Rose couldn't think of a decent insult to get away from him and to be honest, she didn't really want to. Jack was a scoundrel, sure, but when he felt strongly about something he followed it with dire resolution until he was victorious. The cowardly streak he suffered of was more of a way to pick his battles, focusing only on the ones that would bring him closer to his goal.

Marie Rose stepped away from Jack's reach. Even if the pirate had an unshakable will towards goals like treasure and pirate ships it didn't mean he thought twice about the women he courted. Marie Rose observed him in Tortuga, drifting from woman to woman, each of them left with some grievance against him. She always had the impression that Jack loved women, but could never limit himself to having just one mistress.

"Have you ever been in love, Jack?" Marie Rose blurted out.

"In love?" Jack laughed. "I'm in love as we speak."

"You barely know me. You can't even remember de names of half of t'ose white women at Tortuga so how I'm I to believe dat I am anything to you? I don't have de same notions of marriage dat white women have but even I make sure my lovers care deeply about me. But to you, women are all about conquest; not about tender feelings."

"So let me ask you something, love. Should I promise you the moon and the stars and all these things I can't offer? Should I tell you that I'll be around forever when we both know I won't? I'll be your exclusive gentleman for the course of the voyage, but when you're in Vera Cruz and I'm in Singapore, you can't expect me to wait for you. It wouldn't be fair for either of us."

What Jack was saying almost made sense. Marie Rose didn't even know why she was bringing the subject up. "I'm sorry Jack. I guess I not used to being away from my people." The actions and customs of European men were strange to her; Jack's being the strangest by far.

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Now that you mention it, it does seem odd that a Priestess would abandon her community. I never asked, but why are you having me take you to Vera Cruz?"

"I wouldn't trust you with that secret."

Jack smiled deviously. "So it's treasure you're after. I thought your people weren't into material wealth."

Marie Rose felt cornered. "Its not dat kind of treasure. If I tell you, will you promise upon pain of death that you won't tell anyone else or try to steal it?"

Jack held his hand out to shake. "Of course."

Marie Rose thought about it for a minute before saying. "Its called Las Arenas del Tiempo. Legend has it dat i's an hourglass dat allows its masta to go back in time."

"Pray tell, why would you want to go back in time?"

"You may remember dat I once had a sister. We were very close and planned our escape toget'er. As we were escaping, she allowed herself to be captured as a distraction so dat I might have a chance at freedom. She was murdered. It is as if I traded my sister . . . I'd do anything to do it over again, to save her so we both can be free."

"Are you sure it is worth it?" Jack raised an eyebrow, addressing her seriously. "Seems to me like things have happened this way for a reason. Would you be the strong, talented Voodoo priestess you are today if your sister had survived? I'm guessing your interest in the craft began as a means to bring dear sis back."

"I'd rather have Annabelle," Marie Rose insisted, crossing her arms.

"Or perhaps when you attempt to do things over, you end up screwing things up worse and you both are murdered. "

Marie Rose hesitated. "I had not thought about dat. Even still I would be proud to die trying to set things right."

"I happen to disagree with you. Dying trying to save another is still dying all the same. Not only that, but the person whose life was saved spends the rest of their life doing crazy things like looking for an hourglass that sends people back in time."

Marie Rose was offended. "You think what I'm doing is crazy?"

Jack stepped closer to her. "I'm saying your sister would have wanted you to be enjoying the life you have now." He leaned in so close that she could almost feel his moustache tickling her lips. "You should have a lover, someone who'll—"

"CAPTAIN!" one of the lookouts yelled, jolting both Jack and Marie Rose. "There's a ship off the starboard bow!"

As Sparrow was turning to look for the vessel, a cannon fired and splashed down just feet away from the Black Pearl. The Captain cursed to himself as he sprinted down below deck, arms flailing.

"Get up, the lot of you! We're under attack!" he called, shaking, shoving, and even slapping the sleeping crew. "Anyone who doesn't report for duty will be thrown overboard!"

He emerged up on deck as a second cannon blast ripped through the deck railing, sending splinters in every direction. He grabbed a spyglass and peered through it, muttering terrible curses. Sparrow could vaguely make out the logo of the East India Trading Company.

"Bloody hell," he muttered before calling to his men as they poured out from below deck. "Come on men! Hard to port! LET'S GO!"

Before they had a chance to get away, another cannon blast sounded, and this time the cannon ball crashed through the mizzenmast, sending the crew into chaos. The blasts were an order: turn yourself in or be destroyed. There was no way Jack would allow either to happen. He looked about the ship trying to find a way to save his ship when he spotted Marie Rose sitting cross-legged, praying frantically.

"Rose! Rose!" He called sprinting toward her. He pulled her up to her feet, hysterical. "You've got to do something! You're our only hope! Please…"

"But I do not—" she stammered. "The spirits—"

"That's it! Call on the spirits! Make the fire spirit burn their ships down!"

Marie Rose was more than reluctant to make such demands from the spirits but it didn't seem that she had much choice. "Bring me some rum." Sparrow stared at her in confusion. "Now."

Jack ran off and returned a minute later with a bottle of rum. "You picked a fair time to get drunk," he muttered, handing her the bottle.

"Ogoun is the spirit of fire. He is a warrior who loves rum. He may kill me if I'm not worthy in his eyes," Marie Rose looked terrified. "Have your men take down the topsail at any sign of storm. I'll be in the galley."

As she started to leave, Jack grabbed her sleeve. "Try not to use all the rum."

She went to the cargo hold and caught a hen and brought to the galley. She pulled a machete out of her rucksack and began to pray in the African tongue. "_Ogoun, the wounded warrior, forge of fire. Listen to me as I draw your name."_

She carved Ogoun's Veve into the wooden floor hurriedly. Ogoun's symbol was very detailed and complex and to make matters worse, Marie Rose had little experience with summoning this L'hwa. She put as much effort into etching the Veve as time would allow and continued to pray.

"_Enter me so that you can know my spirit and help me fight_."

She poured the rum onto the drawing and dragged a match on the edge of the drawing, setting the floor on fire. The areas she carved caught up first and then the flames spread to consume the rest of the rum. She grabbed the now terrified chicken and slit its throat and held it over the fire as the blood dripped out.

"_Protect me from my enemies and allow me to destroy them."_

There was a flash as lightning stuck just outside the window. The accompanying thunderclap was deafening. Marie Rose began to tremble with fear. Ogoun had come.

Marie Rose poured rum on her own hands and thrust them into the fire.

* * *

Every morning at around the same time, the friars of Jorge Dueñas Delgado's monastery gathered in the main hall for prayer. Then they prepared for themselves a light breakfast over which they discussed such issues as religion and Spain's conquest of the Americas. After breakfast, Delgado excused himself and wended his way through the monastery's first-floor hallways and rooms until he reached a small storage room, littered with crates.

As he was about to enter the room, he was struck with the dreadful feeling that something was amiss. The contents of the room had been shifted, as if someone had looked through them. Resolute, he darted to the back of the room and flipped a hidden switch, causing a section of the wall to swing forward like a door. Fearing the worst, he started to descend the spiral staircase behind the door.

Down the stairs, Delgado emerged into a large, stone brick room that had the dirty and dark feel of a dungeon, less clean than the others in the monastery, and also partially moss-covered. As soon as he saw the empty chair in the middle of the room, he bellowed with rage. How was this possible? The Frenchman who called himself Louis had managed to break free from his restraints. Delgado took mental note to invest in iron shackles in the future, but for now he resolved to ensure that his lifelong charge was safe.

Running upstairs as quickly as he could, he burst into his personal study at full tilt. Immediately, he howled again. His armoire was left open, with personal items strewn about. A certain black box was missing. His window was left open, and a dirty boot track was left on the book that he'd left open on the table under the window.

A couple of friars appeared in the room. "Jorge," one said. "What happened?"

"The Sands of Time..." he started, "...it...has been stolen by that French man."

The friars murmured agitatedly.

Delgado interrupted them. "Did you see him?"

The friars shook their heads.

"I will have to leave," Delgado announced. "Please prepare a horse for my immediate departure. I must collect some things."

Delgado and the friars rushed downstairs, but Delgado went to the secret underground room where he had detained Louis. Passing an assortment of wicked-looking blades hung on nails along a wall, he retrieved a leather case with silver clasps. He flipped up the clasps and opened the case to reveal a matching pair of blades. Each blade was mounted to an arm brace, and each brace fitted with leather straps made to fit onto the forearm.

"The Blessed Blades..." he whispered to himself. "God, guide me on this quest to reclaim The Sands of Time. Show me the way to the man who has it, and give me the strength to do what is necessary once I find it."

Delgado crossed himself, and slammed the case shut.

* * *

The Pearl rumbled as Sparrow's crew fired their cannons. A volley of shots rained down on the enemy ship. Jack strained to see what was happening on the faraway ship, desperately hoping that Marie Rose would summon the spirit of fire soon.

Jack hated to think what would happen if they captured him. He would be brought to the nearest port city and hanged, most likely the rest of the crew would share the fate. There always was the chance they'd figure out that Marie Rose was an escaped slave and all her efforts would be for naught. There was no way that Jack was letting any of that happen.

A blinding flash filled Sparrow's vision and thunder exploded around him. The crew was too frightened to move. Lightning struck near the Black Pearl once more.

"Girl needs to practice her aim," Sparrow grumbled as the wind picked up.

Another flash lit the sky. Sparrow was reminded about what Marie Rose said about a storm coming.

"Bring in the topsails!" Jack called. Gibbs heard him and repeated the command, and at once they got to work, just as the waves were starting to pound the sides of the ship.

The wind had already whipped the Pearl much closer to the attacking ship by the time the crew was taking down the topsail. Much of the crew was soaked from waves washing over the side of the ship and the violent rocking threw them off of their posts. This made taking down the said sails too dangerous to attempt again.

Lightning was striking more often but was drifting closer to the enemy ship, which was firing its cannons seemingly as often as the lightning struck. Shrapnel grazed Jack's cheek, opening a gash. He cried out in pain as an earsplitting crash sounded.

Suddenly, lightning was striking the other ship as if it were a lightning rod. The wind was blowing so hard that the Pearl was completely uncontrollable. The Pearl swung past the opposing ship as it caught up in flame and was taken away.

Sparrow attempted to navigate the ship as it sped toward what was becoming distinguishable as an island. The rocky shore looked like it would create serious puncture damage in the hull of the Black Pearl, but no matter how Sparrow turned the rudder, the ocean currents inexplicably sent the Pearl straight toward the island.

Sparrow braced for the impact as his ship beached itself on shore. Several men were unprepared and fell forward onto their faces. The sound of boards splitting made Jack involuntarily cringe.

The storm ended as suddenly as it had come. Sparrow waited, as if at any moment chaos would erupt again and swallow him up completely. But the storm, and all the pandemonium that came with it, was over as suddenly as it came on, which either meant the fire spirit's work was done, or that it had finally overpowered and killed Marie Rose.

He rushed to the galley, fearing the worst. The voodoo priestess was lying in a pool of blood. The wood floor was charred with red coals glowing warmly. Her clothes were singed and burned away in parts. The dead body of a chicken lay a few feet away, discarded.

Jack kneeled next to her body, forlornly stroking her hair. He had made a grave mistake. He pressed his fingers to his lips and gently touched them to hers. Her skin was blisteringly hot to the touch. His hand went back to his mouth, licking his fingers to lessen the burn.

Aye, he had made a terrible mistake, indeed.

* * *

Olette was in her kitchen, kneading dough. Her face and hands were covered with flour. She heard Louis humming outside, and the sound grew louder as he popped his head in the doorway to their small home. Louis was grinning from ear to ear at her. He had obviously had a good day.

"What are you so happy about?" Olette smiled, wiping the flour off her forehead with the back of her hand.

Louis didn't reply. He just continued smiling and rushed beside her and swooped her off the ground with a hug from behind. She laughed and begged to be set down. Eventually he relented.

Olette rewarded him with a kiss, but the kiss became so passionate that she began to forget about her cooking. He picked her up and set her down on the clean part of kitchen counter. Her doughy and flour-covered hands touched the side of his face and ran through his hair as his hands ran up her legs under her dress-skirt.

Just as Louis moved his hand to untie his pants, the Highwind tossed violently and woke Olette from her dream.

For a moment, Olette didn't recognize her surroundings and wondered why she was on a ship and where her husband was. She reached out into the darkness tried to find her bearings, the rockiness confusing her further.

A loud knock cut into the dark and Olette turned to the doorway as Norrington was entering their room. Tensions created by the kiss with Norrington had mostly subsided, and things between them were beginning to return to normal.

"We are passing by the edge of a storm. I thought I should warn you and take down some of the things so that they don't fall on you while you are sleeping." Norrington said as he began removing his sword and belts from the shelf above the bed.

Olette began standing up to help him when the ship tossed again causing her to fall into his arms. They locked eyes for a moment before separating. Perhaps, the tension was still there.

"You better come up on deck with me. If the storm gets much worse and capsizes the ship, I would hate for you to be trapped below deck."

Olette just nodded, grabbed a coat, and followed Norrington up. He led her much of the way with a gentle hand on the swell of her back, prepared to catch her if the ship lurched again.

They reached the deck, and Olette was surprised to see that the twilight sky was darkened by dark storm clouds in one direction.

Norrington showed her to where he was working and told her to stay nearby. Olette rested her elbows on the railing and looked down into the water. She stared into the endless choppy blue. Storm clouds moved swiftly by and sprayed the Highwind with a light shower.

"James?" Olette called out to Norrington who was helping take down the sails.

"Yes, my dove?" He answered her, making sure that the crew heard him say the term of endearment.

"What are those?" She pointed to three long boats, which were slowly forming in the gray distance.

Norrington didn't answer her question. He merely said, "Stay here," and left to speak with the Captain.

After a few minutes, Captain Blackwell appeared on deck. The crewman who had the spyglass informed him that the boats were flying friendly colors.

"Their ship was probably knocked down by the storm. We should help them." Norrington told Blackwell, who agreed. The former-Commodore was an experienced seaman, and the Captain had come to respect his opinion and occasionally sought his council.

Captain Blackwell had the ship turned north, and Olette watched as the crew of the Highwind lifted men over the starboard side of the ship.

A short pompous-looking man with a large three-pointed hat appeared to be their leader. His clothes were soaked through by the storm but he still brushed off the water on his shoulder with a look of distaste.

"Thank you for the help. I will make sure that you are properly rewarded when we reach port. I'm assuming that you are heading toward Vera Cruz." The short man said this as if it were a command.

"Yes, we are. Captain-?" Blackwell was asking for the short man's name.

"The name is Lord Cutler Beckett." Beckett put special emphasis on the lofty title. "And we are with the East India Trading Company. We were on our way back to Port Royal when-" He stopped speaking when he saw Norrington.

"You, sir, are familiar to me." Beckett pointed at Norrington with his walking cane and began approaching him until they were within inches from one another. "I know you from somewhere."

"Yes, I believe we have." Norrington recognized Beckett from his court marshal in London. Beckett had been among those in the audience.

"If I remember correctly, the charge was bad leadership and treason. You foolishly led your men into a hurricane trying recapture a pirate you let escape, and they all died. Isn't that right?" Beckett recalled these details with pleasure and he smiled smugly.

Norrington didn't respond to Beckett's accusations. He felt the stares of all the men and Blackwell. Particularly, he felt Olette's gaze, and he wondered whether it was full of disgust or pity. He glanced over briefly and found it to be the latter. He so desperately wished he could turn back time and prevent her from hearing about his crimes.

Olette felt sorry for Norrington. He looked so incredibly sad. She understood now why he never spoke about the hurricane, why he was invested in the time-reversal device, and why he had turned to the bottle. Such a shameful event would destroy any proud man. Olette hated Beckett for reminding Norrington and humiliating him in front of all the crew, and she felt guilty for pointing out his boats in the water.

"I don't know whether your aware of this or not, Captain, but you are housing a known fugitive of the British Empire." Beckett said to the Captain but did not take his eyes off Norrington. "I'm assuming you have a hold that we can keep him in until we reach Vera Cruz."

The men of East India Trading Company had their guns trained on Norrington suddenly, and Olette loudly gasped. Norrington looked at the ground trying to think of what to do. Blackwell didn't have a choice. He would have to help Beckett if he wanted to remain a reputable tradesman.

"Yes, sir, I do." Blackwell admitted, as Beckett's men clapped Norrington in irons.

"That was really quite a marvelous escape that you managed last time. Sadly for you, I don't think you're going to be able to recreate the same magic and swashbuckle your way out of this one." Beckett smiled, as Norrington was led below deck.

"What are you going to do to him?" Olette grabbed Beckett's sleeve, as he began leaving to have a drink with the Captain. It had taken a while for Olette to get a hold of herself. She had been thoroughly shocked by the preceding moments and how quickly everything had gone to shit.

"I beg your pardon?" Beckett looked at her like she was diseased. Who was this strange woman, why was she touching him, why was she even on the ship? "Captain Blackwell, who is this woman?"

"She's nobody, sir." Blackwell pulled her back and moved himself protectively in front of her. "Just a passenger on her way to Vera Cruz."

"And what is your business with the former Commodore? What should it matter to you what I do with him?" Beckett finally addressed her, as if, by virtue of being interesting, she had earned the right to be spoken to.

"He is my husband." Olette lied. Deception was against her nature but she was concerned for Norrington, and she wasn't really thinking. She didn't want Beckett to brush her aside.

"Really? You must not have been married very long." Beckett eyed her suspiciously.

"Yes. You are ruining our honeymoon." Olette crossed her arms, trying to cover her tracks. "He was hoping to find work in New Spain."

"No doubt because he is a convict in British territory." Beckett nodded. Her story made sense. "I believe you are his wife, and I give you my deepest apologies for that fact. For your husband is bound for the gallows." He said brusquely, and then left her standing there alone, as he turned and walked toward the galley, entourage in tow.


	4. Lost at Sea

**Chapter 4: Lost at Sea**

_An Island Somewhere in the Caribbean_

Louis was starting to think that the Arenas del Tiempo was more work than it was worth. The passage over the Atlantic hadn't been so bad but it was terrible when he had been thrown into a dungeon as soon as he had found that monastery. He had received vicious rope burn when he untangled himself from the friar's makeshift restraints. Finding the magic hourglass was easy enough; the hard part was stealing a horse from a monastery and galloping full tilt down the mountain trails without breaking the horse's ankles.

It had taken a full day's journey from Orizaba to arrive at the port city of Vera Cruz, where he hurriedly pawned the horse for money to barter passage to Spain. He had thought he was free and clear on the Spanish merchant ship until he spotted a small ship approaching from a distance. He decided at once it must be the monks in pursuit of the ancient treasure entrusted to them.

He had decided at once to steal a longboat and flee to the nearby island, figuring that another ship would pick him up if he got their attention as they passed. He would rather take his chances waiting for rescue than be recaptured by the fearsome monk who had tortured him.

He now sat on the beach, tentatively touching his wounds, wishing he had stayed in La Rochelle with Olette. At home, if he hurt himself, his loving wife would gently dress the wound and kiss him sympathetically until he forgot about his pain. His stomach growled, and he wished he were eating her fruit crépes or her heavenly pot-au-feu. He'd even settle for the awful duck that she had left in the oven too long for last year's Christmas dinner.

He thought that things couldn't get any worse, but the sky started to darken and lightning struck repeatedly in the distance. Light showers gave way to pouring rain, and the sea appeared to be bringing a dilapidated ship in toward his island.

Louis rose from the wet sand to his feet and brought a hand to his brow as he squinted at the approaching vessel.

* * *

_Several Years in the Past at the Marcoix Estate in Hispaniola_

Marie Rose was walking to the cabin with Annabelle when the groundskeeper, Monsieur Chevallier stopped them.

"_Go to the Colbert Estate and deliver this letter. Do not leave until they have read it_," he told Marie Rose while handing her an envelope with Marcoix's seal on it.

It was sundown and she was expected to help with dinner but Monsieur Chevallier's orders were never to be met with question. "_Yes sir_."

She headed down the drive and looked over her shoulder at Annabelle, who was following Monsieur Chevallier into the barn. The sight inexplicably gave her a strange feeling but she had no choice but to deliver the letter as quickly as possible and return home. Marie Rose hurried to make the distance to the neighboring plantation before dinner was served. She had to work the field that day and was exhausted from the effort of reaping the sugar cane and all she wanted was to eat a hot meal with Momma and Annabelle and then go straight to bed. She tried to hide her impatience as she waited for Monsieur Colbert to finish his reply to the letter. When he at last handed her the sealed envelope, she quickly bowed and left the room.

Momma and the other slaves were setting out dinner by the time Marie Rose returned. Momma put a hand on her hip, clearly annoyed.

"_What makes you girls think you can just come in any time you want?_" Momma's eyes widened when she saw Annabelle wasn't with her. "_Where is that sister of yours? Get her or she'll have to eat cold food._"

Marie Rose nodded, now becoming worried about Annabelle. She thought about how she had seen Monsieur Chevallier bring her sister to the barn and wondered why she had felt so unnerved when it had happened. Chevallier may have just needed assistance with the pregnant cow that was due to give birth.

Marie Rose approached the bar, hoping to retrieve her sister. She listened for the sounds of a moaning calf or a birthing mother but instead heard the sporadic grunting of a man hard at work. When she reached the closed doors of the barn she could make out a young woman's choked sobs.

Thinking Annabelle was hurt, Marie Rose threw open the barn door and was met with the sight of her sister bent over a crate with Chevallier behind her, pushing up her skirt. Annabelle looked up and met Marie Rose's eyes with a helpless, pleading look. Chevallier was too busy reaching down into Annabelle's shirt to notice Marie Rose standing at the doorway.

Marie Rose apprehensively took a step backward out of the barn. Biting back her own tears, she gently closed the doors.

There was nothing she could do for her sister. Annabelle and Marie Rose were slaves; their bodies belonged to their master and any attempt to stop Chevallier would incur his wrath. Chevallier was known to give whippings for less serious infractions in his career as the overseer of the slaves.

In her rush to get away from the barn, Marie Rose tripped on an exposed tree root and fell into the tall grass, scraping her knee.

Marie Rose jolted awake. She immediately grabbed her knee, wincing at the very real pain. There was a blistering burn on her knee, most likely caused during her spiritual possession.

Marie Rose was still disoriented from her emotional dream, but as she gathered her bearings, she found herself in Sparrow's bed. She felt like the weight of the entire ocean was bearing down on her. She was sticky with sweat and blood and her hair was starting to bear resemblance to Jack's clumpy, matted hair. Her clothes were so tattered that she may as well have been naked.

By all rights she should have been dead. Last night flames covered her hands and yet they were not burned. Even terrible feats like sliding a knife across her own throat did not create the gash that should have killed her quickly. It was unbelievable that the violent Ogoun had found her worthy enough to be spared.

"I did it," she whispered to herself; she was genuinely amazed that she had succeeded.

Sparrow staggered in from the shadows looking even grimier than usual. A rather wicked wound on his cheek looked like it had stopped bleeding only moments before. It looked as though he hadn't stopped working in order to clean it.

"Why yes, you did succeed in destroying the ship East India Trading Company." He sat down on the side of the bed, exhausted. "Unfortunately, the storm you created has us shipwrecked at some spit of land in the middle of who knows where."

Marie Rose's spirits fell. She had hoped that since she lived through the possession that the Black Pearl had as well. "Dat was not my intention. Can it be fixed?"

Jack brushed a hand over his forehead. "It will take quite some time, but I believe the Pearl will sail again. The crew is scared to death of you; I practically had to stop them from burning you at the stake."

Marie Rose wasn't surprised to hear that. The crewmembers on the Black Pearl seemed to have reserved judgment before, as if waiting for her to prove her evilness on her own before they lashed out at her.

"De men fear what dey do not know," she said, mostly to herself. She met Jack's dark eyes. "I t'ank you for keeping me safe."

Smiling despite all of his discomfort, he laid back onto the bed right beside her. He looked like he had been up all night commanding the crew and was about to pass out. The way he stared up at ceiling, being still for the first time in Marie Rose's experience, was enough to tell her that something was weighing heavily on the Captain's mind.

"You look like you need sleep," she whispered as she reached out and gingerly touched his cheek. Blood, dirt, and sweat stuck to her fingers.

"I'll be fine, love. It's but a scratch." Jack's grimaced when she touched it, belying the true pain the gash was causing him.

Marie Rose rolled over onto her side, also grimacing at the stiff pain her muscles gave her as she moved. She draped a bloodstained arm around his chest. "I'm afraid," she admitted. "I don' tink I'll survive."

Jack frowned, feeling uncomfortable with the task of calming her when his nerves were so rattled as well. His mouth hung open lamely as he tried to think of something to say. He at last looked down at her, meeting her eyes. For once she didn't stare back at him with defiance or disgust; Marie Rose was searching for the good man inside him.

"Marie Rose, you are the strongest woman I have ever met. You know what you want and you go for it, instead of waiting for a maid or a man to bring it to you. If anyone can face the open seas and all its dangers, it is you."

"But—"she was about to protest when Jack kissed her, pressing his dry lips to hers. His moustache tickled her mouth. Neither of them had breath suitable for kissing, but Marie Rose found herself deepening the kiss and clutching onto him like a lifeline.

A rapping at the door jolted them both out of the kiss. "Bugger!" Sparrow groaned but sat up anyway, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Come in," he called, waving his hand in a lazy beckoning motion.

Gibbs entered, nervously glancing at Marie Rose. "Captain, sir. We've found a man on the island, a French man to be exact, who says he'll join the crew if you take him a ways toward France."

"I guess you would like to take me to him," Sparrow grumbled. He climbed out of the bed and followed to the doorway. On his way out he turned to Marie Rose and pointed at her with a mildly limp wrist. "Hold that thought, love."

The Frenchman's English was terrible and heavily accented. Jack watched him attempt to tell his story in broken English, squinting and leaning in every now and then, but he was unable to decipher much of anything the man said. In fact his accent was so strong that Sparrow ultimately gave up, interrupting the man mid- sentence with an up-pointed finger.

"I'm sorry mate, I didn't realize I needed a translator."

He swaggered back into the ship and into his quarters, leaving behind the bewildered man and the rest of his bemused crew. To his surprise, Marie Rose was nowhere to be found. He went into the galley and found her standing in the doorway, staring blankly at the destruction that she had caused. Jack placed a hand tentatively on her back.

"It seems our new friend only speaks French," he told her quietly. He seemed to expect her to go translate for him.

Marie Rose appeared snap out of a trance. At last she turned to Jack. "I will talk to him after I clean up."

Jack looked her up and down. She was actually a frightening sight with her tattered dress with all of its stains from blood and soot. Blood was caked into her fingernails and had turned them brown.

"I'd offer to help…" Jack started, holding up a finger. Marie Rose's stern look stopped him. "I'd better leave you to that."

_

* * *

Aboard the Highwind_

Olette crossed herself and knelt beside their bed. Norrington no longer resided there (he had been moved to a cell), but she still thought of it as theirs.

Olette prayed fervently, asking God, Mary, and the Saints to intervene and save the poor Commodore's life, but no deus ex machina came. No magical rescue. He remained behind bars in the dark of the ship, waiting to die.

She imagined him there all alone and she wanted to comfort him, to embrace him and give him words of hope. Lord Cutler Beckett was currently preventing her from seeing James Norrington, but Olette was confident that she could wear him down and persuade him to let her see her "husband."

After completing several Hail Mary's and an Our Father, Olette crossed herself again and pulled herself into bed. She had grown so accustomed to Norrington's warm body next to hers that the narrow bed felt very cold and oversized without him. She tossed about, languishing in the change.

Frustrated by her inability to sleep, Olette's eyes snapped open and she stared at the dark ceiling. Aside from feeling lonely, there was something akin to rage in her. She felt as if she was reading Louis' letter all over again. Except this time, she couldn't blame Norrington for leaving her like she could blame her husband. It was the circumstances she was angry with. Life had dealt her and the Commodore unfair cards.

The ship creaked and the wind blew against the ship, but these low murmurs weren't enough to fill the silence. Olette longed to hear Norrington's voice again. He didn't have to tell her one of his stories. Norrington could just read from a book of maritime law, and she would still be riveted. There was something she loved about the way he spoke.

Olette's eyes slowly fell, and her thoughts about Norrington's voice carried over into her dream.

"Would you like to hear another story, my love?" Norrington said. He spoke in beautifully spoken French, but Olette didn't notice anything odd about that.

The two of them laid together on their backs in a meadow. The sky was unnaturally blue and the grass unnaturally green, and Norrington was dressed in full brigade and wore his powdered wig. His attire wasn't entirely accurate, but Olette was imagining it purely based upon description.

"No, I want to hear about what you plan to do with the treasure when we find it," Olette said softly, resting her head against his.

"Again?"

"Oui."

* * *

_An Island Somewhere in the Caribbean_

After some time Marie Rose emerged from below deck, looking cleaner. An unsoiled dress replaced the destroyed one; her face, as well as any exposed skin, was washed. Her hair, though still slightly nappy in appearance, was a solid improvement from before. She also seemed to have composed herself; the wide-eyed, helpless little animal look was gone.

She walked up to the Frenchman and greeted him in French.

"_Nice to meet you,_" the man replied, taking her hand and kissing the top of it. "_I am Louis Pinon_."

"Ask him why he's here," Jack told her.

"_My Captain wishes to know more about you. If you live in France than why are you stranded on this island?_"

He seemed prepared for their questions. "_I am a merchant trader. On my way home from New Spain, my ship sank and this was the closest land in sight._"

She relayed this information back to Jack, who squinted suspiciously at the man. "Is he the only survivor?"

Marie Rose asked Louis the same question.

He looked sincerely saddened. "_Yes, unfortunately_."

"Does he know how many days journey New Spain is from this island?" Jack asked.

"_Not too many. Is New Spain your destination?_"

"_Yes, Vera Cruz."_ Marie Rose was growing excited. All they needed to do was fix the Black Pearl and they could be off again.

Louis seemed hesitant to divulge the information. "…_We are about four days journey from the city of Vera Cruz_."

"Four days," Marie Rose told Jack before continuing with Louis. "_We are on our way there, and you are welcome to join us, and if you are willing to wait while we conduct business, we can take you as far as Tortuga. From there you can find passage back to France. In exchange for passage, you must be a faithful member of our crew. As you can see, our ship needs to have some repairs made. We need as many hands patching the leaks as possible_."

"_Of course._" Louis said, bowing his head once in thanks."_Thank you, _mademoiselle"

_Aboard the Highwind_

Olette woke early the next morning and resolved to try again with Beckett. She arrived on deck before him and waited outside the entrance to the Captain's Quarters, which Beckett had commandeered from Captain Blackwell.

Lord Cutler Beckett stepped outside to drink his tea in the fresh sea air and was immediately bombarded by the Frenchwoman's begging and pleading.

"Please, monsieur, I'm not going to try and convince you to free my husband anymore. But if he is to be hanged, let me at least see him before you take him from me." Olette prostrated herself at Beckett's feet. "Milord, I beg of you."

Beckett rolled his eyes; he was beginning to tire of this woman's incessant whining. He looked down at Olette, who stared at him with pleading eyes. She was a weak fragile thing with a heaving bosom, and Beckett was persuaded. He supposed that she wasn't a threat and incapable of staging a rescue.

"Perhaps, I was too hasty in my decree. I will allow you to see the criminal, accompanied by a guard of course, but you must allow me to search your persons for weapons." He saw that she didn't follow his intention, and he tried to explain, "You must understand, I can't allow Norrington to escape again. You might secretly supply him with a means of escape."

He had shut her up for good. If she still wanted to see Norrington, Beckett would get a little pleasure out of it, and if she didn't want to see her husband anymore, than all the better.

Olette stood, meekly asking, "Where do you want to conduct this search?" She looked around the deck, and Beckett gestured back into the Captain's quarters with a smug smile.

Beckett followed behind Olette as she entered his quarters. Refusing to look at him, she raised her arms and waited for Beckett to get it over and done with. He chuckled and poured himself a glass of port, making her wait a little longer in the foolish position before he began the touching and groping. He started at her feet and moved up her legs, underneath her petticoat, until he reached her hips. Then he moved out from under her skirt and slowly felt across her arms and corset.

He was taking his sweet time with all of it, lingering in all the wrong places. Olette gagged, and Beckett chuckled at her discomfort.

* * *

_An Island Somewhere in the Caribbean_

Marie Rose was the only one who could understand Louis, and as a result he visited with her more often than Sparrow would have liked. Marie Rose welcomed a chance to speak in her first language. French rolled off her tongue effortlessly while English made her feel clumsy and awkward. Marie Rose and Louis would muse at the difference between Louis' proper European French and Marie Rose's strange Caribbean French.

After supper, Louis and Marie Rose sat alone on the beach while the rest of the crew drank and gambled. Louis was unusually sullen that night and was not the spirited conversationalist that he normally was.

"What has you so low, monsieur?"

"I was thinking about my home."

"I've always wondered what France is like. Tell me about it."

"I wouldn't know where to begin. France is such a large country; each city conducts a different trade and has a certain charm. My home, La Rochelle, is a beautiful seaport seated on white limestone cliffs. It is well known for its crab bisque and other seafood dishes. The winters are colder than any you could imagine, and when the town is covered in snow, it looks like a white frosted cake… But what I miss most about La Rochelle is waking up next to mon belle chéri."

Marie Rose was surprised that Louis had a woman waiting for him back home. It didn't occur to her that seamen could be devoted to women far away from them. Perhaps Jack was a bad example of the fidelity of sailors.

"You're married?"

"Her name's Olette." Louis nodded, and laughed to himself. "I was just thinking about the first time we met, the first time I met her, I mean."

He enjoyed telling the story, and he began telling it without being asked, "She was working in her father's library, and I was a merchant sailor, always traveling, never at land more than a few weeks. I came into their shop one day. I think I was trying to sell her father some rare manuscript that I had acquired during my travels, but he wasn't there."

"And you romanced her?"

"Well, I tried. But she wasn't having any of it. I don't think she understood what I was doing." He remembered her putting books away, trying to ignore him, and the memory made him smile.

"She was completely oblivious, and I was in love. I told her that much. I told her I loved her and I asked her to marry me, but she didn't believe me and tried to get rid of me. I came back every day that week, armed with sonnets and flowers, but she was immune to my charms. She'd heard of my reputation and was very distrustful, but by the end of the month, I'd proved my consistency and wore her down."

"So much work."

"But it was worth it. I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like my Olette… never met anyone so faithful and true."

Jack observed Louis and Marie Rose from afar, and the two appeared to be very comfortable with each other now. He scowled at this development. Sparrow was starting to resent the Frenchman's good rapport with Marie Rose. He pretended not to watch while they would chatter in French with one another. He made special arrangements to ensure that Louis was on duty during the hours he would normally visit with her, and continuously requested her presence at meals.

* * *

_Aboard the Highwind_

Olette traveled down to the brig, shuddering as she went. She felt defiled, like his cold little hands were still all over her body. His cruel smile imprinted in her memory. One of Beckett's men followed her, with a knowing sneer on his face. Olette was beginning to regret what she had just allowed to happen, but when she saw Norrington, it all became worth it.

Norrington looked so defeated, so greatly in need of hope. He was sitting pitifully in the corner of his cell and resting his head against the bars, his long hair covering his face. His head turned slowly, without much conviction, to see who had entered the brig. Perhaps, he thought, it was Beckett, come to laugh and insult him some more.

"James," a teary-eyed Olette rushed to the bars near him. Her small hands and arms reached through to embrace him, to touch his troubled face and ask him how he was doing. "I've been so worried about you. Beckett only just let me come see you. Are they feeding you properly? Does it get cold down here? Do you need me to bring you anything? Don't worry, I'm going to do everything in my power to get you out of here."

The sudden explosion of contact and dialogue was startling to Norrington but not unpleasing. Nothing from Olette could be unpleasing to him. Norrington smiled half-heartedly and took her hand from his check and kissed the palm, thanking her for her concern and love. The action was highly improper, but both of them had been teetering on the edge of propriety for so long, that the tender action went unnoticed, seeming natural, by both parties.

"I appreciate you coming, but you really need not have bothered." Norrington said, releasing Olette's hand. He noticed the guard watching them and added with false cheer, "My lovely wife."

"What do you mean? Why do you say that?" Olette asked; her face fell.

"Olette, you're a married woman, and I am a man condemned to die. And our time together on this ship is coming to an end." Norrington explained, careful not to say anything too obvious in front on their dim-witted observer. "What would it matter if you could save me? We have no future." Norrington hated to tell Olette the painful truth and dash all her hopes, but someone needed to wake her from her fanciful dreams.

"You don't know that. Louis might be dead." Olette clasped her mouth. She had spoken of her husband's death with such hope, and she was horrified by her manner. She paused for a moment before continuing, and when she spoke again she was careful not to appear so pleased at the thought, "What if Louis is dead?"

"Then, I think you could find a better second husband than a fugitive of the law, that's assuming I managed to escape execution."

"That's not your decision to make. It's mine." Olette scowled. Norrington didn't get to decide her future for her.

"Oh? So you would marry me without my consent?" Norrington laughed deliriously, drunk with tiredness. Given his present situation, her silly musings were diverting.

"You would refuse consent?" Olette smiled. It made her happy to see Norrington laughing.

"No, I would not." He said quietly, in a withdrawn manner, and things were suddenly very serious again. "But it doesn't matter what I would or would not do. Louis is most likely alive and trying desperately to get back to you, and I am fated to die. It is best to not speculate and think of things that cannot be."

"So you suggest I give up all hope and make peace with your impending death?" Olette said loudly, appalled by the idea. "No! I'm afraid your negativity and hopelessness has not yet spread to me, and I will not accept that. I will not just resign myself to your approaching execution… even if you have no future with me. Because—" Olette paused, knowing she shouldn't continue. "I love you." She repeated it again softly, even though it hurt them both for her to say it. It pained her because she knew she shouldn't, and it pained him because she belonged to another.

"Please do not say that." Norrington's voice broke and wavered from the pain. I cannot bear it."

* * *

_An Island Somewhere in the Caribbean_

Marie Rose feared that she was becoming too fond of the pirate captain. She kept herself busy most of the time to avoid spending time with Jack. She took it upon herself to repair the galley's floor where it had burned, and when that was finished, she dug out some old sandpaper and refinished the Black Pearl's figurehead. She also collected fruit from the dense jungle daily and performed rites for the spirits near the pool she had bathed in when they first were shipwrecked. Her biggest project was patching the sails with old sheets and tablecloths, which she worked on daily.

Sparrow, even as busy as he was with managing the repairs, would invariably seek out Marie Rose.

She had come to the conclusion that people like Sparrow were special due to their willingness to accept other people and their cultures. He treated her as an equal and required that his crew did the same; something that she had never expected from a European. However, he was a pirate all the same, and not to be trusted. She already made the mistake of telling him about the Las Arenas del Tiempo.

It was becoming increasingly clear to Marie Rose that her actions in these months of searching for Las Arenas del Tiempo weren't necessarily permanent. Temptation was at the back of her mind at all times.

That is why Marie Rose had walked deep into the jungle with bedroll and a few necessities in order to evade Jack, who had taken to knocking on the galley door until she finally gave in and let him in.

In her experience, European men feared untamed wilderness so she figured the jungle would keep him away, at least at night. She found a clearing where she could see the stars and began making her bed.

They hadn't kissed again since the time in his cabin—at least not on the lips. Jack kissed her on the check, forehead, and even her neck. Marie Rose suppressed any reaction to these advances, even though Jack grinned at her as if he knew that she wanted nothing more than wrap him up in arms and return each and every kiss he gave her.

As soon as she was settled in her makeshift campsite, she heard the sound of someone traipsing through the jungle and soon enough Sparrow appeared with a bottle of rum. He swaggered up to where Marie Rose lay, holding the bottle like it was some prize he won. She sat up, watching his approach, chagrinned.

"Don't ask me how or why, but our dear Louis is teaching the men to sing a French drinking song," Jack said. Marie Rose wondered if he was already drunk but she had no way to tell.

Marie Rose chuckled at the mental image of pirates singing as Jack sat down beside her. He uncorked the bottle of rum and took a swig, and handed it to Marie Rose, who took a sip and passed it back before lying back down.

"This island isn't half bad to be shipwrecked on, eh? There's fresh water, lots of fruit on the trees," Sparrow gave Marie Rose a meaningful look, "and quite lovely scenery."

Marie Rose smiled, shaking her head. "You always have to be de scoundrel, don' you?"

He fingered his braided goatee, raising his eyebrows. "I wouldn't have it any other way." His arm snaked itself around her. "And neither would you, I imagine."

Marie Rose's pulse started to speed up. Being this close to Jack was simultaneously comforting and unnerving. To be honest, she found his perpetual light-heartedness attractive while his dishonesty repulsed her. She always found herself telling him her secrets—secrets that he could very easily use against her.

"You're rather the quiet one when you're not insulting me," he remarked, fixing her with a crooked expression.

With a smirk on her face, she snatched the rum from him and took a gulp. "If I wanted company I'd visit you in your cabin."

Jack laughed, as if he was amused by the idea of Marie Rose finally showing up at his door. "I'd quite enjoy that, really."

Marie Rose watched him as took the rum from her hand and drank deeply, licking his lips after swallowing. He shifted his weight slowly until his upper half was above her, his arms on either side of her.

"But this commander of the spirits is too shy to call upon a gentleman in such a forward manner," he whispered, his face inches from hers. She could feel him start to shift his lower half so he was lying on top off her. "So instead she mends his sails and cooks his meals and no doubt performs complicated Voodoo rituals to make him desire her."

"So you noticed the extra oysters in your dinner, then?" she joked in an effort to make his claims seem ridiculous.

Sparrow closed the distance between them and kissed her with a different kind of passion than any of his other advances. She found herself kissing him back with equal enthusiasm, tasting the sweet rum on his lips and in his mouth. He broke from the kiss only to bring his lips to her pulse point on the neck, quickening her heart rate even further.

He brought his kisses down her neck to her collarbone and even lower until was leaving light kisses on her bosom. Marie Rose had to catch her breath when he halted his tirade of kissing in order to remove her dress.

Everything was moving so very fast, but Marie Rose was so completely swept up in the moment that she didn't care.


End file.
